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He drowns in the serenity of plain
Waves of thought crash on barren skull walls
Thunder is the catalyst for meditation, rain the bringer of peace.
He plagued by very coffin which is ecstasy.
Concocting poisons to throw in the river
To poison the inhabitants of the outskirts of his swampy empire
He bestows upon them the freedon to starve
While they build their coffins out of marble, clay and pine.
And rejoice in their madness.
Anything which is not in the immediate circle of power of mystic experience
Is not worth any mercy nor even contemplation... Only peril
